The Wrong Man. Laura Abbot

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СКАЧАТЬ he gathered her back into his arms, where she remained stiff and unmoving. “The decision has been made.”

      She stared at the far wall. “I’m not going.”

      This was harder than he’d imagined. “Where else would you live except with me?”

      “With Grandma Georgia and Grandpa Gus.”

      Trent bit his lower lip, knowing full well his in-laws would welcome that plan. “Wouldn’t you miss me?”

      She shrugged, unwilling to meet his eyes. “You could visit me.”

      It was time for a dose of reality. “I wouldn’t be able to visit very often. I’ll be working.”

      She didn’t move.

      “I’d really like you to come with me. In Whitefish there’s a big lake and a ski slope. You could go to the same school where I went as a little boy.”

      Her lips quivered and she wrung the hem of her shirt.

      “Looks like we have a problem, doesn’t it? I’m not happy being a carpenter. You don’t want to leave Billings. What do you think we should do about this?”

      “What would you do there—in that place?” she mumbled.

      Patiently he explained about the adventure-outfitting business. About his love of the out-of-doors, which he wanted to share with her. About how lonely he would be without her.

      “Where would we live?”

      “To start with, in Weezer McCann’s guest cabin.”

      She wrinkled her nose. “Weezer? Who’s that?”

      “I’ve told you about her. Remember, she’s the lady who helped Grandma Lila and me when I was a little boy. She was like my second mother. You’ll love her. She tells the most wonderful stories.”

      Kylie twined her fingers around his wrist. “What about?”

      Good Lord, had he actually succeeded in capturing her interest? “Native American legends about birds and fish and animals. Why they’re named what they are. Why they do what they do.”

      “Like beavers and bears and stuff?”

      “Exactly.”

      Just when he thought he’d convinced her, she scowled. “No,” she said, adamantly shaking her head. “I have to stay here.”

      Gently he ran a hand over her soft hair. “Can you tell me why?”

      She sniffled against his shirt. “Mommy.”

      He held her close, feeling her fists curl against his chest. “Mommy is in heaven. Don’t you suppose she wants us to be happy?”

      Seconds passed. Then she looked up at him. “I ’spect so.”

      “Our love for Mommy and our memories of her can go with us anywhere in the whole wide world, right?”

      A teary nod.

      “So whaddya say we take Mommy with us to a place where you and I can be happy? She would love it. It’s beautiful country filled with wildflowers, big green trees and gurgling streams.”

      She squirmed to the end of his knees and regarded him thoughtfully. “Did you say mountains?”

      “Spectacular mountains.”

      “Ice cream?”

      The non sequitur made him laugh. “Scoops and scoops of it!”

      She looked directly into his eyes. “Daddy, I like it when you laugh. Do you think you can laugh again when we go to that fish place?”

      Laugh again? Dear God, had he been that out of touch? He reached for her and enfolded her in a huge bear hug. “Yes, sweetie, I’ll laugh again—lots more. And so will you.”

      “Okay, then.”

      He kissed the top of her head. “I’m glad you’re coming with me.”

      “But there’s one thing.”

      At this point he would gladly have presented her with the entire state of Montana had it been within his power. “What’s that?”

      “I know Mommy’s with us in spirit, like you said, but what about that cementery? Could we go say goodbye before we move?”

      Trent’s heart shattered. “Tomorrow, honey.”

      With the wisdom given only to children, she had hit upon the one act he now realized he, too, needed to perform.

      LIBBY DUCKED her head as she and Doug climbed the steps of the bed-and-breakfast following the symphony. Brahms and Mozart had done little to soothe her nerves. Instead, she’d spent most of the concert thinking about whether her insistence on two rooms had jeopardized her best chance for love and family.

      “Feel like a nightcap?” Doug asked in the lobby as he removed her coat. “There’s a wonderful gas fireplace in my room—and a bottle of Amaretto.”

      Doug, always considerate, deserved her enthusiasm. “It’s hard to turn down a cozy fire and an after-dinner drink.” She smiled. “Not to mention one very nice man.”

      “Good,” he said, his eyes warm with affection.

      The fireplace cast light and shadow over Doug’s room, which was decorated in deep burgundy and green tones. Settling her on the love seat, he filled two goblets, then sat beside her, raising her glass in a toast before handing it to her. “Here’s to you, Libby.”

      The toast was definitely more than a casual “Here’s to ya.” Libby watched him sip from his glass, then sit back in satisfaction, before she took a swallow, letting the almond sweetness linger on her tongue.

      To fill the silence, she started a discussion of the concert. She’d always loved music, even as a tiny child. A dim memory returned, a long-lost vignette. Her mother sitting in the corner of the high-ceilinged living room, the sun falling on her dark curly hair as she bent to the harp, the melody of the plucked strings sending a thrill through Libby’s small body. How old had she been? Four? Five? Gazing now into the dancing flames, she treasured the immediacy of the image before recalling the dark days that followed. When she was six, her mother died, and the silenced harp gathered dust in the corner until her stepfather had finally sold it.

      “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden,” Doug said, taking her half-empty glass and setting it on the coffee table beside his.

      “Just remembering.” His arm settled around her shoulder. “Music does that for me.”

      “Evocative,” he said quietly.

      “Very.”

      “Feel like telling me about it?”

      She shrugged.

      “You СКАЧАТЬ